Page 476 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Thank you, it was a fun project.” I tried to maneuver myself so that I was closer to the door.

“Has anyone ever told you that you could model your own designs?” He looked me up and down slowly. “Because I see it. You in that little Wedgewood bikini?” He shuddered. “I can only imagine!”

I laughed self-consciously. “Oh, no, that’s not my thing. My roommate, on the other hand, is a personal trainer. Whenever I need a body, I count on her.”

He laughed. “I’d count on your body. If you’ve got it, why not use it?”

I glanced towards the lone person left in the classroom, hoping for an interruption, but Bradley had headphones on and was oblivious.

“Not gonna happen.” I laughed again but it came out strained. How the hell was I going to get out of this? “Anyway, I should⁠—”

“Listen, I have some thoughts about your work I’d love to share with you. Let’s go grab a drink.”

As he stared at me, I wondered if my grade would be in jeopardy if I turned him down. It was so unfair! Bradley didn’t have to fend off our instructor. Thankfully, I had an excuse.

“Sorry, but I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Actually, I need to run. But thanks for saying nice things about my work. I’m thrilled you like it.”

I sidestepped around him with a wave before he could respond and jogged down the hallway, breathing with relief. Now it was on to the next potentially stressful event: showing up at a stranger’s apartment at night.

I dialed Steph on my way over to Christopher’s place. “Mr. Touchy-Feely did it again. And this time he asked me to get a drink!”

“Nooo,” she groaned in commiseration. “How the hell are you going to make it through this semester?”

“I know!” I pouted into the phone. “Maybe I should stop washing my hair and wearing deodorant on class nights?”

“He might like you au naturale too. I’d be careful.”

“Speaking of being careful, I’m about to do something risky. I’m going over to the original creative director’s apartment to look at his old sketches. I wanted you to know, in case I go missing.”

“Natalie, what the hell? It’s late! Do you even know him?”

“I know of him…everyone in the department says he was the nicest guy ever.”

“Was the nicest guy,” she chastised. “He doesn’t work there now. There’s got to be a reason why. For someone who’s really smart you sure do some dumb shit.”

For a second, I felt uneasy—but then I pushed it aside. “Don’t freak me out. I’ll be fine. But just in case, he lives in Hoyt Towers.”

“Fancy,” Steph replied. “Maybe he’ll use a silk rope to strangle you.”

“Stephanie Marie Riggins! Stop it!” I scolded.

Ten minutes later I was standing at his door with my heart hammering away in my chest. The doorman had checked me in, so I had another witness.

Footsteps, then fussing with a few locks, and the door swung open.

“Hey there, you must be Natalie.”

My nerves calmed immediately.

Christopher Branson was a golden retriever to his brother’s German shepherd—a shaggy-haired, smiling, mess of a man in sweats and a stained blue T-shirt. I obviously didn’t know him, but there was something about his energy that instantly put me at ease.

“Hi, Christopher, it’s so great to meet you! You have a giant fan club at Branson. I feel like I already know you.”

He flushed, eyes dropping to the ground as he shook my hand, looking embarrassed at the compliment. “Well, thank you. That’s nice. C’mon in.”

I followed him into the impressive space and noticed every lamp was on, like he was aware that I might feel a little weird about coming over to his place alone at night.

“Can I get you something to drink? I have every type of water available, half a dozen different juices, kombucha, tea, coffee…”